


The Missing Scenes

by glanmire



Category: game of thrones
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 19:33:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1561535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glanmire/pseuds/glanmire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The scenes the show doesn't show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Guard Duty

Margaery glided up to Tommen’s door. Her dress whispered around her thighs as she walked, and the night air was cool on her legs. 

Jaime Lannister was leaning against the King’s bedroom door. His eyes were shut in an expression of boredom, and she didn’t blame him. Must be hard to go from winning wars to coddling children. 

Margaery walked as silently as she could, and waited until she was barely two feet in front of him before she spoke.  
“May I go in?” she asked clearly, her voice filling the night air. Jaime’s eyes jerked open, and his golden hand traced the top of his sword hilt. Margaery doubted he could grip a sword with the new hand, not matter how it glimmered in the low light. He was angry that she had startled him. 

“My lady,” he finally said gruffly, tipping his head infinitesimally.  
“Is it not ‘Your Grace’?” Margaery asked, circling around him, only half-joking. His eyes did not follow her, but stared straight ahead, focused.  
“Cersei is the Queen,” Jaime stated, in a tone that suggested she agree.  
“Yes,” she replied, and kept walking. The tiles were deliciously cool on her bare feet. King’s Landing was often stifling, and it was a relief to be outside in the dark for once.  
“Ser, I fear you did not answer my question. May I go in?”  
“What business do you have with Tommen?”  
“None. Well, at least nothing official, but everyone knows we’re to be married. I thought it might be nice to get to know the boy first.”  
“Did you?” Jaime asked dryly, still staring at a fixed point.  
“Yes. I believe it does couples the world of good. Take the late King Robert and Cersei for example. No offence to your sister, but that was not what I would call a loving marriage. Wouldn’t she have been better off with someone she knew, someone she trusted, even loved?”  
She let her eyes linger over Jaime’s. He did not look at her but he seemed to tighten himself. His hand ghosted over the top of his sword again. 

She did not say anymore, but continued to pace. Maybe his gaze followed her, maybe it did not. She did not worry. He knew he understood her meaning. 

It was the Lord Commander of the Kingsgueard who spoke first.  
“You may speak with Tommen.”  
She stepped forward, and a golden hand rose into the air, the universal sign to stop.  
“Only to speak, my lady.”  
“Ser Jaime, I wouldn’t dare-” and she smiled sweetly, “corrupt our young King’s innocence. I am innocent of such matters myself after all.”  
“Twice married now,” he added.  
“And twice widowed before they could be consummated,” she finished strongly, and pushed the door open, striding towards the boy who was to be her third husband.


	2. The Almost Champion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While imprisoned for Joffery's murder, Tyrion receives an unexpected visitor.

A shadowy figure stood at the doorway of Tyrion's cell.   
For one brief moment the more superstitious part of his mind took that image and went wild with it; he half-believed it was the Stranger, the seventh god who took you to die.   
But that was folly. The Stranger did not have brown curls framing his face, nor did he wear elegant robes adorned with a flower motif. 

"Please excuse the late hour," Loras Tyrell said as he entered Tyrion's holdings.  
"Ser Loras, what an unexpected pleasure," Tyrion said, only half-joking. The Knight of Flowers nodded in response, and looked about for a safe, reasonably clean spot to sit.   
Tyrion supposed that Loras was used to the glamour of the court life and the beauty of the Highgarden; Tyrion's cell was not what anyone would call aesthetically pleasing, and his jailors had inconsiderately abstained from supplying him with a bucket. In other words, it stank, but for some reason it only pained Tyrion more to see Loras curl his nose at it.

"I'm sorry if my cell is not to your suiting," Tyrion said, a little sharper than he meant to. Loras looked up, broken out of his reverie and almost seemed to blush in the low light.  
 "No, pardon me," he replied, and carefully lowered himself down so that he sat opposite Tyrion. "It's just that I thought they might have held you in somewhere somewhat more pleasant than this. I had heard that the cells in Casterly Rock are paved with gold."  
"My family are loath to dispel such rumours, and yet that is all they are, just rumours. A Lannister will tell any story to make themselves sound better.” 

Loras’ torch cast shadows as they spoke and Tyrion was reminded of campfire tales told by the flickering fire; tales of monsters under beds, the beautiful damsel in distress and the brave knight who slayed the beast and saved the woman.   
A tale that eerily mirrored the Lannister siblings, or at least according to Cersei, he thought morbidly. 

"I doubt that this is a social visit Ser Loras. Please, what brings you here?"   
Loras cleared his throat. "Yes. Well as you know, I'm to marry Cersei."   
Tyrion had several cutting remarks he could have replied with to that, but for once exercised restraint. Now was not the time to be making more enemies.  
“Yes. Do go on.”  

“Well that's why I'm here so late. I did not wish to be seen, if you'll excuse me."   
“Not at all,” Tyrion said, the humour gone from his tone. “Who would want to risk being branded as sympathising with the new Kingslayer?”   
Loras grimaced. “Yes. You do know that Cersei had chosen Ser Gregor as her champion?”  
“No. Not much news filters this far down." Tyrion paused and considered this new information like he would a glass of wine, swirling it around before swallowing it.   
“Why are you telling me any of this Loras? We've barely ever spoken before."   
“Well,” and the young knight leaned forward conspiratorially, “I was considering being your champion.”   
“You?" Tyrion asked, unable to formulate a more articulate sentence.    
“Yes I know, hardly the obvious choice. You have to understand the appeal though Tyrion. Do you remember the Hand's tourney, back in the days of Ned Stark?”   
Tyrion thought about it. "Aha. The Mountain nearly killed you that day didn't he?"   
Loras bristled. "Yes. I've actually been waiting to put that beast down for quite some time now. However, it’s not just that Tyrion. I also believe that I empathise with you far more than most people in King's Landing do."   
"And why is that?” Tyrion asked, unable to hide his curiosity.   
"Consider the youngest son of a rich, powerful family. He has a ruthless, beautiful sister and it seems that the world should be his. All things considered, he should be heir someday."   
“Should be?"  
"He has an affliction-" and Loras' pretty face scowled at the word, "that makes his family doubt his ability to not only produce an heir, but that makes him lesser being, maybe not even in their eyes, but in the eyes of the Kingdom at large."   
"I think I understand."   
"I thought you would, somehow. You have your dwarfism, I have my own affliction. Cripples, bastards and broken things, wasn't that what you used to say? Many would consider me a broken thing." 

Silence fell between them, and for the first time Tyrion felt something akin to sympathy for the young knight before him. Cersei would destroy Loras, just because she could.   
   
Loras spoke first. “There’s also a third reason I felt obliged to fight for you."   
"Do tell."   
"I am certain of your innocence."   
Tyrion smirked at that. "Really? Your lord father doesn't seem so convinced-”   
"My lord father doesn't know,” Loras said firmly.    
Tyrion leaned forward. "Know what exactly, Loras?"   
“You were not the person who poisoned Joffery."   
Tyrion gripped Loras' leg with a strength he did not know he had. "You knew this information, and you still let me go through that trial? You would let me die?"   
Loras looked down. "It was you or us. I chose us."   
Tyrion leaned back, understanding. So it had been the Tyrells all along. Hardly surprising really. Well, wasn’t it nice that there was at least one noble family who were willing to protect one another? He could not say the same for his own.   
"So you would have fought for me, just to assuage your guilt about the whole thing?"   
"Something like that, yes."   
"Loras, what's to stop me telling everyone about this?"   
The knight looked up, and his usually soft brown eyes were cold. "Who would believe you Tyrion?"   
"Well, you must at least tell me why, after all these compelling reasons, you decided not to champion for me."   
"Cersei, firstly. I could never hope to marry her after championing your cause. My father would not be too pleased either, seeing as he voted for your guilt. I would be ostracised, more so than I am already. " Loras shrugged. "I am truly sorry Tyrion."   
"Me too," Tyrion said bitterly. 

The silence fell again, but Tyrion was in no hurry to fill it in. Loras took the hint and took hold of the torch, turning to leave.   
“Loras?” Tyrion asked. “One last question. Would you have beaten the Mountain, do you think?"   
Loras smiled. "I know I would have," he said, with a confidence that reminded Tyrion of the old Jaime, before he’d lost his hand, when he had been the golden knight who believed he was invincible.   
Perhaps Cersei could learn to love Loras after all, if he kept the similarities between himself and Jaime up. In Cersei’s tale of monsters however, Loras would not play the saviour knight, defending the innocent and slaying the true beast.  
He was abstaining from the game, something that indeed made life safer, but did not tell such a thrilling tale.


	3. Breaking the News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myrcella finally hears about Joffery's death.

Myrcella’s handmaiden was brushing her hair when Arianne strode into the room.   
The Dornish princess had been nothing but welcoming to Myrcella and yet they had never spoken at length for all of her time in Dorne. Myrcella knew immediately that there was something horribly wrong just by Arianne’s presence in her chambers. 

“If you could give us a moment,” Arianne said to the handmaiden, who nodded and left the room, looking back nervously as she did.  
“May I continue brushing?” Arianne asked, gesturing to Myrcella’s half-finished hair.   
“Yes,” Myrcella managed, nerves making her timid. Arianne took up the brush and combed smooth tracks into Myrcella’s hair. Myrcella thought about her mother Cersei, how she had never brushed her hair for her but had ordered someone else to do it. Arianne had strong, sure hands, whereas her mother’s had been soft.   
“I have sad news for you,” Arianne said, and continued on before Myrcella could beg her to please just say what it was. “Your brother is dead.”   
Myrcella pictured Tommen’s childish face still and cold, the worms feasting on his soft arms, and she began to cry softly, though she knew that a princess was meant to stay composed.   
“The King, killed at his own wedding,” Arianne mused, and sick relief ran through Myrcella, cold like a drop of sweat running down her back.   
“Joffery is dead?” she asked.   
“Yes,” Arianne said.   
"Will Tommen be King now?” Myrcella asked, and then felt a little ashamed. She was not supposed to ask questions like that.   
Arianne did not chastise her like she expected- like her mother had raised her to expect- but instead began to play with Myrcella’s hair, playing with it like a handmaiden never would.  
"Yes, your brother will be King. Are you upset?"   
"No." Myrcella considered this. Her sudden tears had dried as quick as they’d come, and Myrcella thought that was less to do with the dry desert air than that she was controlling herself again. It had always been about control.   
Joffery had when women wailed and wept, and Myrcella had learnt fast to control the tears. Tommen had not. 

"I haven't seen my brother in a very long time," she said. It was true, but was not a valid excuse. A good sister, a good princess would mourn the death of the King.   
"A few years ago, Tommen had a cat who was pregnant, and Joff cut it open just to see the kittens” she added. This was one of the stories that she was not supposed to tell, but Joffery was dead now, so what did it matter?   
Myrcella became aware that Arianne's hands had stopped playing with her hair, but she herself couldn't stop talking now that she'd started. "I used to be terrified that I'd get pregnant one day and he'd cut me open too," she admitted quietly.  
Arianne was utterly silent now, and Myrcella continued, half-afraid that if she didn't say it all now that it would never be said.   
"I used to think when I was younger that I'd have to marry him, and that he would cut me up like he did the cat if I didn't give him a son,” she admitted.   
"Of course you'd never have to marry him, sweet Myrcella. Joffery was your brother."  
"The Targaryens married brother and sister for thousands of years.” Myrcella knew that line since she was a child, but there was another thing she could have said, something darker. She did not feel ready to bring it out into the real world yet though. If she said it then it would be real. She was Myrcella Baratheon, even if she looked nothing like her father, even if the common-folk whispered otherwise, even if Stannis said she wasn’t. Brothers and sister did not have children together, not anymore. 

"May I cut my hair?" she asked. Arianne frowned, puzzled by the non-sequitur. "Why would you want to cut your hair Myrcella? Look at this golden mane of yours. You are like a lion, like your mother."   
"No I'm not," Myrcella said, sudden hot tears again in her eyes. "I'm a stag, like my father."   
"Yes, yes of course you are," Arianne agreed carefully, "But here in Dorne, not many people have hair like yours Myrcella. It is beautiful, not just here but everywhere. It would be a shame to cut it."   
"It makes me look like a Lannister. Everyone hates Lannisters."   
"Myrcella, who has been telling you these things?"   
Myrcella ducked her head and mumbled though she wasn’t meant to. "No one."   
"Myrcella," Arianne said softly. Myrcella slowly raised her head and looked at the mirror. Arianne's reflection smiled back at her.   
"I love you Myrcella. Trystane loves you. Your family loves you. Is that not enough?"   
"My family doesn't love me."   
"That is simply not true and you know it."  
"Yes it is! My uncle sent me away, my mother never writes, and my father and brother are dead! I want to go home before someone else dies or before they forget about me! When's the funeral?   
"Tomorrow."  
"Tomorrow? But I won't make it back in time-"   
Arianne said nothing to that, and her silence was enough.   
"I'm not going back?" Myrcella asked slowly.   
"I am sorry, princess."   
"Joff is dead and I can't even see my mother?"   
"No."   
"I'm not here to get to know Tyrstane, am I? I'm here as a prisoner."  
"You are not a prisoner Myrcella."  
"Then let me back to King's Landing. Please, I swear I'll come back, I just want to see my mother just for a little while, and I'll come back to Dorne again, I will."   
"I am not in control of such things, princess. If I were, I would let you go home in a heartbeat."   
Myrcella knew that crying would not help. It never did. She breathed in, although her throat was tight and painful, and calmed herself down.   
"There is some good news, Myrcella. Your mother is to be married to Loras Tyrell. Won't that be nice?"   
"Am I allowed to go to that wedding either?"   
"No."  
Then it was not good news, Myrcella thought to herself. Why was her mother to marry anyway? She was meant to be a widow, she was meant to be grieving over Myrcella's father.   
How could she love Loras? If the rumours were true about her and Uncle Jaime then - then her mother would not love Loras. Even if they weren’t true, and she had loved Robert, then it still wouldn't work- 

"Why can't my mother marry Oberyn, he's closer to her age? Then she could come here and live with us in Dorne."   
Arianne smiled, but it was a sad smile that meant that's-not-going-to-happen. "Oberyn has a paramour, remember?"  
Myrcella wanted to say, so what, Ellaria was just a bastard, but she didn't like the word anymore, not since she'd heard the rumours, not when she could be one too.    
She looked up at her reflection and made herself stop crying. Her father was Robert Baratheon and he had won wars. Her mother was Cersei Lannister and she had lost a husband and a son, and she was still Queen, still strong. 

She wanted to ask, if Tommen dies does that make me Queen? She wanted to ask, why is it that I am older than Tommen, and yet the Crown glides past me? Would they crown Stannis if Tommen died, as Robert's next male heir? Would they truly rather give the kingdom to the man they had fought a war with, a man who called her an abomination, rather than give it to her?   
She ought to feel guilty for thinking such things, but a princess did not feel guilt, or ashamed, or upset. A princess had to be strong.   
Myrcella could be strong too. She had been told that she was leaving to marry Trystane, but they had lied. Instead they had locked her into the tower and surrounded her with snakes. She was meant to be a stag but looked like a lion, and yet both those beautiful, proud animals died before a snake-bite. She would not. 

“Thank you,” she said to Arianne. “May I have a moment alone, to mourn my brother?”   
“Of course,” Arianne said, and strode out of the room.   
Myrcella went to the drawer and pulled out the knife the handmaiden used to trim her hair. She systematically began to cut off her golden locks, and blonde hair fell around her like a halo. She cried then properly, at last, but it was not for Joffery, not this time.


End file.
